


then you'll know (i ache for you)

by zarahjoyce



Series: no rhyme and no reason [7]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bein's believin', F/M, I can have it all Now I'm dancing for my life, The King Beyond the Wall, The Queen in The North, man writing this gives me feeling, post-series speculations, what a feeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 06:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21294701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarahjoyce/pseuds/zarahjoyce
Summary: Jon looks at her with those eyes that can pierce her -ifshe allows them to. He turns away and asks over his shoulder, "Am I to understand then that I'm no longer free to come here without the Queen's explicit invitation?""Preposterous!" she scoffs loudly. "Ineversaid any of that, Jon, nor did I imply it. But, since we're on the subject: I now ask that you at least inform me of your coming beforehand, so that I may prepare a feast fit for a King. Winterfell willnotbe found wanting, not while I'm its Queen. You know you owe me that courtesy.""But not your loyalty?"Sansa's mouth drops open."--what?"
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: no rhyme and no reason [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1369990
Comments: 11
Kudos: 204





	then you'll know (i ache for you)

Sansa grimaces, straightening in her seat as she watches The King Beyond the Wall pace _wildly _before her. She wants to comment that he is not wearing the cloak she'd sneaked in between his things before his return to the Wall, but perhaps it had been a decision on his part not to do so - so she chooses not to say anything.

Jon stops pacing _only _to come directly towards her. "Tell me this is a joke," he demands, his voice gruff.

She curbs the desire to roll her eyes. "No."

"_No?"_ His nostrils flare.

"Not until you tell me the purpose of this... _unexpected _visit."

Her missive to him had been abundantly clear: he is to inform her whether or not he will be present to discuss matters about the Free Folk _and_ where this meeting of minds should take place. Nowhere did she invite him to come to Winterfell - and for him to arrive unceremoniously, at that! 

Jon looks at her with those eyes that can pierce her - _if _she allows them to. He turns away and asks over his shoulder, "Am I to understand then that I'm no longer free to come here without the Queen's explicit invitation?" 

"Preposterous!" she scoffs loudly. "I _never _said any of that, Jon, nor did I imply it. But, since we're on the subject: I now ask that you at least inform me of your coming beforehand, so that I may prepare a feast fit for a King. Winterfell will not be found wanting, not while I'm its Queen. You know you owe me that courtesy."

"But not your loyalty?" 

Sansa's mouth drops open. _"--what?"_

Jon's lips curl at her. "The Lords of Storm's End, Highgarden, and Dorne," he fairly snarls. "When are they to arrive here?"

_\--gods. _She has forgotten that he has _someone _feeding him information in Winterfell. How did he say it, before? That him spying on her was his means of _protecting _her?

_Fuck _that bullshit.

"You've come here merely to ask me _that?" _she demands.

"Should I not?" he asks back.

Sansa grits her teeth. "You must have a lot of time in your hands, Jon, for you to gallivant between our lands anytime you wish. I envy you, I do."

"Enough, Sansa!" Jon says, his fists curled at his sides. _"Enough._ Now tell me when do you expect the Lords to--"

"_That," _she says, meeting his gaze without flinching, "is none of your concern."

"Sansa--"

She purses her lips and looks down at her books as if consulting something there. "Unless of course you can convince me that _somehow _the Free Folk you govern will benefit from knowing the answer to your inane question--"

_"Sansa--!"_

_"Jon,"_ she cuts in, sudden exhaustion creeping up in her bones as she slams her book closed. "We've had this conversation before. _Several_ times, if you can recall. You have repeatedly and abundantly made it clear to me that you have no intent or desire to come home to--" _me, _"--to Winterfell, and yet here you are, questioning my loyalty - _of all things! _\- as if we're--"

_Married_, she wants to say.

_In love._

It's good that she's remained seated throughout, because her knees started trembling despite her steely words. She will not falter in her stance; she _cannot_. Sansa clears her throat. "As if _you _have any right."

She can see his expression shift from anger to _hurt _to something far subtler than she can interpret. He pulls at his mouth and exhales loudly, before sinking on a chair a few feet away from hers - as if his own legs can no longer support him. "And I don't," he says quietly, sullenly. "I _know _I don't. And yet--"

No, _no._ Her heart shouldn't leap at those words.

_And yet._

"It doesn't stop me from wanting it."

The fire crackles from its hearth - the only sound that can be heard in her solar, at that moment. Sansa stares at Jon, wanting him to repeat what he'd said - for surely he didn't actually say them like _that_, did he? Perhaps he meant them differently? Perhaps it's just her foolish, _foolish_ hope making her hear things?

She sighs. "Jon--" 

He rises to his feet and comes towards her; instead of stopping before her table, however, Jon goes around it until he's standing beside her chair. He takes one of her ink-stained hands and holds it in between his. "It doesn't stop me from wanting _you."_

_...oh._

For one wild moment, Sansa forgets to breathe.

"I have done a lot of things that make me unworthy of coming back home," he continues, his eyes on their entwined hands. "Things that I know I _shouldn't _be pardoned for--"

_"Jon--"_

"But I love you, Sansa. Gods help me, I_ do. _And because of it, I keep coming back to Winterfell - to you. _Because _of you."Jon leans forward, cups her cheek gently with one hand. "And I swear to you now: I'll prove myself worthy of your forgiveness." He swallows, his voice gruff as he adds, "Of your-- of your _love_, should you choose to freely give it." 

His thumb brushes against her lower lip, perhaps accidentally, perhaps purposely. Sansa closes her eyes, forces herself to breathe, to remember _this_, to capture the memory of the man she loves proclaiming that _he _loves _her_ in return--

She opens her eyes, wantonly draws his wandering thumb into her mouth.

_I love you._

_I want you._

_Only you._

Jon inhales sharply.

Soon he's drawing her up and depositing her on the table and _of course_ she comes to him willingly and laughs while he fumbles at divesting her of her clothing, and then-- _and then--_

There are no more talks about forgiveness or loyalty after _that._


End file.
